BRIDAL JEOPARDY (17 page)

“How are you feeling?” her assistant asked.

“Better.”

“Dinner is in an hour. I’m sure you want to look your best. Why don’t you take a nice hot shower? And there are clothes in the closet.”

“Thank you,” she said as she climbed out of bed and headed for the bathroom, which turned out to be large and luxurious—a place she would have enjoyed if her stomach hadn’t been tied in knots.

A shower and nice clothing. Was John thinking about taking her to bed after dinner? If he was, she prayed she could derail that plan.

Once she’d showered, she dried her hair and tamed it into a style she knew John admired. Then she went to the closet to see what clothing was available.

There were a number of tasteful gowns and dresses, probably chosen by Claire, who was using the knowledge of style she’d learned at the shop.

Stephanie ground her teeth when she thought about her sweet little assistant. It went to show that you couldn’t always tell a person’s real motivations. She should have thought about that when she’d let John Reynard into her life. Well, it was too late to worry about what she should have done. She had to think carefully about what she was going to do now.

After looking through the dresses, she selected a pale green dinner gown, then did a careful job with her makeup, trying to present herself as the happy bride who had finally moved into the very well-appointed home of her fiancé.

But she hesitated at the door to her room, wishing she could stay locked away where John couldn’t touch her.

“Stop it,” she muttered to herself. “You have to face him, and you have to make him absolutely sure that you’re relieved to be here.”

After taking a deep breath and letting it out, she stepped into the hall and headed for the stairs.

John and Claire were waiting for her in the drawing room, sitting with their heads together, speaking in low voices. She stood for a moment in the doorway, observing the intimacy between them and confirming her earlier thought that they were probably sleeping together. That would have made her angry if she’d cared about her relationship with John Reynard. Under the circumstances, she couldn’t help thinking that the other woman was doing her a big favor, letting John blow off sexual steam with her instead of his fiancée.

They stopped talking abruptly when they noticed her in the doorway, and she suspected they had been talking about her.

John looked her up and down, taking in the makeup and the dress she’d chosen.

“I must say, you look lovely, my dear,” he said, getting up and coming over to plant a kiss on her cheek.

“Thank you.”

“Can I offer you some wine? I remember you like Merlot.”

“Yes,” she answered. She wasn’t going to drink much because she needed to keep her wits about her. But she’d gotten an idea when John had offered her a drink.

She looked toward the glass he’d left on the end table and saw amber liquid and ice cubes. Probably bourbon, which was his whiskey of choice.

Have some more bourbon,
she silently told him.
Drink more bourbon. You want to drink a lot of it tonight—to celebrate your impending marriage.

She waited with her heart pounding while he poured her a glass of the red wine, then hesitated for a moment at the bar.

Again she sent her message and felt a thrill of relief and satisfaction when he reached for the bottle of Jack Daniel’s and poured himself a drink.

He brought her the wine, then did a double take when he realized he already had a glass of whiskey sitting on the side table. Quickly he took it away and put it in the sink.

“We should eat,” he said. “Matilda has prepared a delicious dinner for your homecoming. All the Creole treats you love. We’re starting with Oysters Bienville. Then we have jambalaya, and we’re finishing with bananas Foster.”

“That sounds wonderful,” she said, when she wondered how she could swallow any of it.

Bring your drink,
she told John, and he obliged her by picking up his glass and carrying it into the dining room.

They took their seats at the table, where the staff gave everybody speculative looks, and she wondered what had been going on between John and Claire. Had they flaunted their relationship, or had the servants simply picked up on the intimacy between them?

The maid brought the baked oysters, the shells resting on a bed of hot salt, then served each of them two.

As Stephanie started to scoop the contents out of the shell, using the small oyster fork, a jolt of mental energy made her hand shake and the shell clatter against the dish.

John gave her a sharp look. “What?”

“I...just touched the hot oyster shell by accident,” she lied.

“Let me see.”

“Really, it was just enough to startle me,” she said as she held out her hand, fighting madly to stay calm.

Craig had just contacted her.

Sorry,
he apologized.

Where are you?
she asked as she bent to fork up the oyster in its creamy sauce, hoping her face wasn’t flushed. Craig was close by. Close enough to contact her.

I’m at the edge of the plantation. Around back.

Be careful,
she warned, marveling that he could speak to her from so far away. Maybe something that woman Rachel had done had boosted the signal between her and Craig.

I am being careful. I just wanted you to know I’m here.

She forced herself to eat the oyster, then smile at John. “This is so good.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I’d like some more wine,” she said.
And you want more bourbon. Lots more bourbon.

They finished the meal, and when they got up from the table, John approached her, putting his arm around her shoulder so that his fingers brushed the top of her breast.

She caught her breath, knowing that she was playing a dangerous game. The whiskey had made him amorous, but had he drunk enough to keep him from performing?

“Let’s have a nightcap in the lounge,” she murmured, reinforcing the invitation with a mental suggestion, which she expanded to include Claire. The longer she could keep the other woman with them, the longer she could keep John from pawing her, she hoped.

The three of them sat together in the lounge. To avoid conversation, she suggested,
Let’s watch a movie.

“I wanted...” John said, then trailed off as though he had forgotten that he was hot to take his fiancée to bed.

Stephanie silently pushed the movie idea as she brought everyone a drink.

John picked an action-adventure, which was better than something sexy. But he crowded against her on the sofa, his lips brushing her cheek and his hand touching her leg or the side of her breast.

She fought not to cringe as she kept making suggestions that he drink, and by the time the movie was over, he was unsteady on his feet. Yet he clamped his arm around her as they walked to the stairs.

Her heart was in her throat as she let him walk her up the steps. Inside she was screaming,
You’re so sleepy. All you want to do is fall on your bed and sleep. You’ll enjoy making love to Stephanie so much more when your head doesn’t feel so fuzzy.

She held her breath as they passed her room, then continued on to his.

He stood wavering in the doorway, and she helped him inside, easing him onto the bed. He closed his eyes as she pulled off his shoes. Then his eyes blinked open and focused on her.

“Did you hear me talking about that murder?” he asked.

“What?” she gasped. “What are you talking about?”

“At that reception at the...what was it...the St. Charles Club. You know, where we first met. I was talking to Larry Dalton about...you know.”

Her heart was in her throat.

“I know what?”

“That drug-enforcement agent who went into the ocean when he was messing with my shipment from Taiwan.”

“No,” she breathed.

“Got to keep you close,” he muttered, “in case you heard.”

Her heart was already pounding so hard she could barely breathe. Then, as his hand reached for her, she felt her heart leap into her throat.

Chapter Seventeen

As John made a grab for Stephanie, she stepped out of the way.

Sleep. Just sleep. You need to sleep, and you’ll feel so much better in the morning.

To her profound relief, he accepted the suggestion and sank into sleep, and she exited his room, then hurried to her own, her pulse pounding.

She’d thought he’d wanted to marry her because he wanted entrée into an old New Orleans family. Apparently it was more than that. It seemed he thought she’d overheard a conversation about a murder he’d ordered.

She hadn’t heard him. But now she knew. In the morning, would he remember that he’d told her?

“Oh, God,” she whispered, thinking that she was in more trouble than she’d even known.

As soon as she closed the door, Craig was in her head.

Thank God.

You were watching that.

Yeah.

You heard about...a murder.

Yeah.

What am I going to do?

Hope to hell he doesn’t focus on it when he wakes up.

As she caught the raw edge in his silent voice, she shuddered. Then she picked up that he was thinking about her in bed with Reynard, not about the man’s murderous past. He already knew about that.

But now the dark and dangerous images swirling in his mind made her gasp.
You can’t break in here. Don’t try. They’ll catch you.

I’m coming in for you.

Wait

I will. I’ll figure something out.

She pulled off her gown and shoes and found a long T-shirt she could wear—something very unsexy, if John appeared in her room.

She knew Craig caught that thought and tried to ignore his instant flare of anger. But then she walked to the desk, picked up a letter opener she’d seen there and set it on the bedside table.

She heard Craig catch his breath.

You think you could get out of there alive if you stabbed him?

You have a better idea?

Wait for me to get there.

Praying that was possible, she washed her face, brushed her teeth and used the toilet before climbing into bed.

Closing her eyes, she imagined Craig lying beside her.

Soon,
he whispered in her mind, and she hoped it was going to work out the way they wanted.

She made a strangled sound when she felt his lips against hers.

Her eyes flew open, but the room was empty.

How did you do that?

In the darkness she heard him chuckle.

It’s like moving books in the bookcase. Only more fun.
As she heard his voice in her mind, she felt his invisible fingers stroking her hair, her arms. When he cupped his palms around her breasts, she caught her breath.

What are you doing?

What we both want to do.

You shouldn’t.
When she tried to sit up, he pressed his hand against her shoulder.
Don’t run away from me.

But you’re making me hot. And what can I do about it?

He laughed again.
I can do something about it. You’ve had a terrible day. Let me make it up to you.

It’s not your fault.

You begged me to take you with me. I wouldn’t listen.

She swallowed hard.
But that might have gotten you killed. I think that blast at the cabin was meant for you.

Yeah. And the poor cop was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. But let’s not focus on that now.

As he spoke, he brushed his invisible lips against hers as he lifted and shaped her breasts. She closed her eyes, unable to pull away from the sensations. And as she enjoyed his kisses and his touch, it was difficult to remember that he wasn’t there in the bed with her. When his thumbs and fingers closed around her nipples, she had to take her lower lip between her teeth to keep from crying out. That was all she needed—to bring someone charging down the hall. She didn’t allow herself to actually name who that might be.

She squirmed against the mattress.

Stop.

You don’t like it?

You know I do.

Than let me give you pleasure.

But...

He stopped her protest with a long, passionate kiss as he tugged at one nipple while his other hand drifted down her body toward the juncture of her legs.

She didn’t have to open them for him. Using his phantom hands, he had complete access to the most intimate parts of her, and she caught his satisfaction in knowing what he was doing to her.

Her hips rose and fell as he stroked a finger through her folds, dipping into her and turning his finger in a maddening circle, then traveling upward to the point of her greatest sensation. He kept up the arousing attentions, making it impossible for her to focus on anything else as he drove her up and up toward a climax that burst over and through her, making her gasp as she struggled not to cry out in pleasure.

And when he was finished, he whispered in her mind,
Sleep now. You need your rest.

What about you?
she managed to ask.

That was good for me, too. And it gives me something to look forward to. When I get you back, we’ll finish what we started.

She prayed that he was right. Prayed that he would be able to get her away from the man who refused to allow her to escape from him.

* * *

S
TEPHANIE
WOKE
with
the memory of making love with Craig and a smile on her face. She’d dreamed of having a relationship like that, but she’d been sure it would never happen for her, until she met Craig.

She whispered his name and turned her head, expecting to see him lying beside her. Then reality slammed back like a prison door clanging behind her.

She wasn’t with Craig. Not at all. She was in a bedroom in John Reynard’s house. Thank the Lord, not Reynard’s bedroom.

She clenched her hands into fists, wanting to pound them against the walls for all the good that would do her.

When she glanced at the bedside table, she saw the letter opener she’d put there—which looked as if she’d been expecting to be attacked in the night.

Hoping that no one had checked in on her, she put the weapon back on the desk and went to the bathroom, where she got ready and pulled on jeans and a T-shirt.

People were moving around the house when she came down, and John and Claire were sitting at the dining-room table, talking as intimately as they had been in the lounge the night before.

As she watched them together, she wanted to ask why John just didn’t marry Claire, since they were so obviously suited to each other, but she kept the question to herself.

“There she is,” Claire said.

“Yes, we let you get your beauty sleep,” John added as he gave her a considering look. “I’m sorry I drank so much last night. It won’t happen again.”

While she was scrambling for a reply, he said, “The wedding will be this afternoon.”

“What?” she gasped, feeling as if the breath had been knocked out of her. “I thought you wanted a morning wedding.”

“I changed my mind,” he answered.

“Yes. We have almost everything arranged,” Claire said brightly.

Unable to stand, Stephanie dropped into a chair at the table. She’d known that John wanted to move quickly, but she’d had no idea the wedding would be today,

Claire bustled over and set a notebook in front of her. “Since you were asleep, I took the liberty of making some selections. I thought Prestige would be an ideal caterer. They’re bringing the food from their kitchen in New Orleans. But I know there’s a branch of Just for You Flowers about twenty minutes away, so we can use them. I’ve sent out email invitations to a number of John’s business associates, and I’ve already received some replies, but I think we can expect a small group—perhaps twenty guests. And we’ll have your father picked up and brought here. We decided that a justice of the peace was the easiest choice for an official. Mr. Vincent Lacey will be here at five.”

Stephanie fought a wave of dizziness. “Five? The ceremony is at five?”

“Yes. Your dress has also arrived. And I can do your hair and makeup. That’s what I used to do—for one of the local TV stations before I came to work for you.”

“Oh” was all Stephanie could say, ordering herself not to start shaking. She had to hold it together but knew she was on the edge of a meltdown. And the worst part was that when she tried to contact Craig, she couldn’t locate him. He seemed to have fallen off the edge of the earth again.

* * *

H
AROLD
G
ODDARD
ENDED
the phone call with a broad grin on his face. He had some good news for a change. He’d known from his men that someone else was looking for Stephanie Swift and Craig Branson in Houma.

There was a chance it could be someone who knew about the clinic’s purpose, but he doubted it. Maybe this had to do with her fiancé, John Reynard. Harold had used the old Reynard murder connection to get Craig and Stephanie together. But it looked as if Reynard wasn’t prepared to give her up.

And now there was a massive mobilization at Reynard’s country estate. Mobilization for a quickie wedding. Caterer, florist, a justice of the peace. The works.

Which made it pretty clear that Stephanie wasn’t dead. Reynard must have taken her back to the plantation. Maybe his men had even blown up that cottage and killed Branson.

Now Reynard was going to make sure his bride didn’t escape again. Harold tapped his finger against his lips, thinking. He’d sent two guys to Houma, but it looked as if Reynard had a lot more than that at the plantation. Harold had better get some extra help and send them down there.

The plantation was fenced in—with a gate. But the guards would be expecting wedding guests, which meant it wouldn’t be that hard to crash the gate and snatch the bride.

Of course, Branson was out of the picture now, but it would be very instructive to see what had happened to Stephanie with her lover gone. He’d examine her mental state, then put her out of her misery.

* * *

C
RAIG
HAD
BEEN
BUSY
.
Last night he’d spent some time in the bathroom of the cheap motel where he was staying, using a clipper on his thick dark hair and then shaving his head. He’d cut himself a couple of times, but the effect of the hair removal was startling. He didn’t recognize the ugly-looking man who stared back at him in the mirror. Hopefully, Reynard wouldn’t, either.

Next he took a chance and wired five thousand dollars from an account he kept under another name to a Western Union office in a nearby town.

He’d used some of the cash to buy spy equipment to monitor phone communications at the plantation, and that had already paid off. Reynard was planning his wedding for that afternoon.

Craig swore. The bastard was moving fast. But as he listened to the preparations, he got an idea.

After learning Reynard’s plans, he stopped at a discount department store and bought some extra shirts, which he put on in layers, bulking up his body to change his physique a little. As he passed the cosmetics department, he had another couple of ideas. He bought a dark eyebrow pencil and fake tanning cream. He spent some time in the men’s room putting on the tanning stuff and doing his eyebrows, trying to make them look thicker but natural. Next he stopped in the hardware store and bought some little rubber rings, which he stuck into his nostrils to make his nose look bigger. After altering his appearance, he ran a couple more errands. With the state’s lenient gun laws, he was also able to pick up a SIG semiautomatic with a couple of spare clips—plus some other equipment he was going to need.

When he was as prepared as he could be, he drove to Just for You Flowers, where the staff was frantically working to get the Reynard order ready in time.

He’d asked for a wedding bouquet of white roses and baby’s breath plus several vases of flowers in stands to decorate the pool area where the wedding was being held.

“Hi, I’m Cal Barnes from the New Orleans store,” he told the woman behind the counter. “When they heard you were doing a job for John Reynard, they sent me down here to help.”

She gave him an annoyed look, and he was pretty sure that with his bald head and heavy eyebrows, he looked like a thug.

“No need. We have it under control,” she said.

But I’m going to drive the van that brings in the flowers,
Craig said, putting in every ounce of mental energy he could muster. He’d done this before with Sam. He’d done it with Stephanie. He’d never done it on his own, but he knew Stephanie had been pushing John in the direction she wanted, and if she could do it, so could he. He reinforced the silent observation with a second repetition.

The woman’s expression was still doubtful. “I’m just going to call Phil at the New Orleans shop and check on that.”

“It was Phil who sent me.”

She reached for the phone, and he sent her a fast and furious message.
Don’t call Phil. Don’t call Phil. You need Barnes to drive the truck.

He kept repeating the message, waiting with his heart pounding. If she didn’t take him up on the offer, he’d have to go to plan B, and he had no freaking idea what that was. But he
had
to get inside that plantation compound, if he had a chance of rescuing Stephanie before she ended up in Reynard’s bed tonight.

“We could use a driver. Some of the stands we’ll need are heavy, and we only have women in the shop today.”

“I’m glad to help with that,” Craig said.

“And while you’re here, there are some deliveries that need to be put in the refrigerator.”

* * *

S
EVERAL
MILES
AWAY
, Rachel and Jake Harper were tuned in to the preparations at the estate.